


Breaking Point

by vorare



Category: Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Eating Kink, F/M, Hard vore, Post-Canon, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorare/pseuds/vorare
Summary: A belch rolled up Bigby’s throat, long and low and luxuriant. He stretched, half-dressed, across his unmade bed, one leg dangling halfway over the edge. One arm was thrown behind his head, the other outstretched, a half-smoked cigarette held loosely between his fingers.He was covered in blood.
Relationships: Snow White/Bigby Wolf
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Recently replayed the Wolf Among Us, and coincidentally, the unexpected sequel was just announced, so it seemed the perfect time to write a little one-off. It seemed a damn shame that Bigby didn’t get to eat anyone in the game, so here’s this. Enjoy~

A belch rolled up Bigby’s throat, long and low and luxuriant. He stretched, half-dressed, across his unmade bed, one leg dangling halfway over the edge. One arm was thrown behind his head, the other outstretched, a half-smoked cigarette held loosely between his fingers.

He was covered in blood.

He hadn’t _intended_ to do it. In any case, he hadn’t planned it, but he’d just been so _hungry_. With everything that had happened in the past few weeks, after Faith, and Crane, and Nerissa, and the Crooked Man, and Bloody Mary, and all, all of it, he hadn’t had time to eat much at all, let alone to get his fill of _meat._ With all the restructuring after Snow’s appointment as Mayor, things hadn’t slowed down in the weeks since, either. So when Colin had sneaked back from the Farm yet again, it had been too much to bear. He was the only one who knew that the pig had made his way back to Fabletown… and it wasn’t altogether uncommon for Fables to disappear from the Farm and fail to turn up again, anyway. (Whether that meant escaping to the wilderness to live like simple animals again, or eaten by ogres, or some as-yet unknown source of foul play, no one knew or would say.)

He’d barely heard the pig’s cries and squeals for mercy over the growling of his own stomach and the thundering rush of blood in his ears as he sank claws and teeth into the other Fable. The cries didn’t last more than moments, anyway – Bigby made sure of that. No one else in the Woodlands would hear a thing.

And so he’d gorged on his former prey-turned-friend-turned-prey again, crunching down every last bone, licking up every drop of blood that hadn’t already soaked into the floor. Fuck, did it feel good to simply _eat,_ to let all thought slip away, replaced by the richness of flesh on his tongue, the velvet warmth of blood in his throat. To be, in that moment, neither Fable nor Sheriff, but simply a wolf enjoying his dinner.

He would feel bad for what he’d done. At some point. Probably. But for the moment, the pleasure radiating from the warm heaviness of his stomach eclipsed any possibility of guilt.

He licked his lips, tasting blood and tobacco. His cigarette had burned out; he flicked it to the floor and moved his hand to his belly, ghosting his fingers over the stretched, rounded flesh. He closed his eyes, let the feeling remind him of hundreds of meals past – of times now long ago, when he lived to eat, when the gluttonous cravings of his stomach were his only master. Things had been so much simpler, back then.

He’d begun to drift into much-needed sleep, lulled by memories of past feasting and the contended gurgling of his belly working on fresh flesh… when there came a knock at his front door.

He gritted his teeth and didn’t open his eyes. It was the middle of the night. Whoever it was could fuck right off.

A few moments passed, and then the knock came again. The first time it had been a composed, measured knock, but this time… this time it was a little shaky. By now the person who was knocking had been standing outside the apartment door long enough for the faintest traces of their scent to reach him, and even from the faintest whiff a room away and behind a door, he would know that scent.

No sooner had he realized who it was, than he heard her voice. She sounded small and scared and wholly unlike herself. “Bigby?”

Something twinged in his heart at that.

Snow was at his door and she sounded scared and alone. What else could he do?

He leapt up from bed, the sudden movement making his stomach slosh slightly and pulling a protracted gurgle from within. He managed, barely, to muffle a belch Snow surely would have been able to hear even from the hall. He staggered to the bathroom and did what he could to cleanse the most visible blood from his hands and face with splashes of cold water.

Staring back at him from the mirror, his eyes were still yellow. He shook his head and blinked a few times, trying to will them back to brown, and though they flickered briefly back toward humanness, they returned to, and remained, stubbornly, wolfishly yellow. Well, there was nothing he could do about that, and he couldn’t keep Snow waiting. 

He threw on a shirt – never mind that it could barely button over his swollen belly – and padded to the door, pausing only to kick a rug over the largest bloodstained area of the floor.

He opened it, and there stood Snow, in the same suit she’d worn to the Business Office that day, shoulders hunched, arms crossed at her chest. There was always a freshness and beauty to Snow even at the worst of times, but as much as it was possible for her, she looked haggard, and tired. She met his eyes for what felt like a long moment – he had no idea if his eyes were brown or yellow – before she said, “Can I come in?”

Bigby stepped aside, closing the door behind Snow as she entered the apartment. She made her own way to the living room, then turned back to face him. He noticed her eyes flick over him, up and down. Or, rather, down and up. Down to his visibly full belly, and back up to his face.

“Who is that?” she asked without preamble, looking down at his belly again. She didn’t sound accusatory, or even shocked. Just tired.

Bigby knew he had a few options on how to respond. He could admit what had happened, or he could play dumb.

He chose a third option: a half-truth. “What do you mean, _who?_ That’s not a _who,_ it’s food.” He laid a hand proprietarily on the side of his stomach. 

Snow shook her head and let out an exasperated huff of breath. “Come on, Bigby. I know you don’t look like this when it’s _just_ food. You ate _someone._ ” She wrinkled her nose just the slightest bit, looked down at the floor, and nudged aside the corner of the carpet with the toe of her shoe, revealing the edge of the bloodstained hardwood. “Besides, you seriously underestimate the human sense of smell. It smells like a butcher shop in here.” 

Bigby averted his eyes, feeling the crawl of shame as his face heated slightly, before he admitted, “Colin.”

Snow nodded curtly, as if this answer neither surprised nor distressed her. “Snuck back from the Farm, huh?” At Bigby’s nod, she merely nodded again. “Just as well. If he wouldn’t stay where he belonged, he was asking for it.”

Bigby blinked, stunned to silence by this response. Sure, Snow’s stance on the politics of Fabletown had grown much less forgiving since her recent appointment as Mayor, but he still wouldn’t have expected _this._

Snow either didn’t notice his incredulity or didn’t make much of it. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on an unexpectedly businesslike tone. “How long will this keep you full?” She considered, eyeing his belly as it let out a gurgle of digestion. “ _Are_ you full?” 

“For now,” said Bigby, somewhat guardedly. It was partially true. In his human form, the flesh he’d eaten was more than enough to stretch his stomach; in his true form, it would qualify as little more than a hearty appetizer. Even when he was full in this form, he could still feel, to some degree, the emptiness of the true capacity of his stomach, the distant, hollow ache of the craving for more. 

“I guess what I meant is, how soon could you eat more?”

“I can always eat more.” He really had no idea where she was going with this, and the feeling of his belly straining the front of his shirt was presently distracting enough to keep him from thinking too deeply about it. 

She nodded several times, her eyes distant, her lips silently mouthing words he couldn’t make out. 

Though he didn’t want to push any buttons while she seemed to be in such a strange and vulnerable mood, he decided to try to cut to the chase. “Snow, what’s this about?”

When she met his eyes, there was something slightly manic in her gaze. “There’s so many of them, Bigby,” she said, voice breaking, then falling almost to a whisper. “So many of them, and they all want or need something, and when I can’t give it, they – they –” Her eyes were shining, and Bigby almost moved closer to comfort her, but before he could, she had lifted her head and squared her jaw. “I know now what the problem is. We’ve destroyed the natural balance. Villains – and monsters –” She looked at him pointedly. “We’ve cuffed and muzzled them with our laws, but that’s not the way our world is meant to work. Fables are hard to kill, but sometimes some of them have to die for the story to go on. To reach some sort of happy ending.” 

He muffled a belch in his fist. “What are you saying?”

She took a shuddering breath, but her eyes were bright. “I want you to be the Big Bad Wolf again. I need you to be.”

He stared at her incredulously. Finally he said, “I _am_ the Big Bad Wolf.” 

“The way you _used_ to be.” Unexpectedly, she put a hand on his forearm, gripping it tight as she spoke. “You could start with the Farm – so much of the budget goes there, with no profit returning – it’s hardly connected to Fabletown at all at this point…” 

“You… you want me to eat everyone at the Farm?” Insane an idea as it was, he couldn’t help the way saliva welled in his mouth at the thought. The way his stomach managed to growl in spite of the meat it was digesting. There were dozens of Fables at the Farm, some of considerable size. Even in his true form, it would be an enormous feast, testing even his most gluttonous limits. His stomach, so long left wanting, ached for the challenge. 

But Snow didn’t stop there. Letting go of his arm, she began to pace. “You’d move on to the Fables here after that. The ones Fabletown simply can’t accommodate. The troublesome witches still trafficking in illegal magic. And anyone you particularly want, I suppose, what does it matter at this point?” She gave a bark of laughter that was humorless and more than slightly hysterical. “You’ll have to move out of the Woodlands right away, of course – they’ll want your head on a platter – can’t know I had anything to do with it –”

“Snow, slow down.” Bigby grasped her shoulders, halting her pacing. “What you’re saying is crazy. You’re talking about murdering half of Fabletown.” 

“Feeding half of Fabletown to you,” she amended, placing a hand atop the crest of his belly, smoothing it down over the curve of his gut. “Think about it, Bigby. How delicious they’ll be. We can finally clean up Fabletown for good.” She gave the side of his belly a surprisingly firm pat, bringing up a burp and making him shiver.

The ever-hungry part of him, the part that begged him every day to heed the call of his stomach and devote himself once more to gluttony, thought she had a very good point. But that part of him that was fond of the life he had made for himself here, the part that enjoyed the feeling of belonging and would protect it at any cost, protested.

He shook his head, but didn’t bother to argue. Snow was clearly overworked, exhausted. Some sleep would set her mind right. “Listen, you need to get some rest. We can talk about this in the morning.”

After a moment, she nodded slowly, some of that manic fervor leaving her eyes, leaving her looking simply tired once more. She took a step back, then hesitated. “I can’t… I can’t go home. The mountains of paperwork I’ve had to take home with me… I can’t…” She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t suppose… maybe I could stay here?” 

He was surprised, but not unpleasantly. He looked toward the bedroom, then at the uncomfortable armchair. “You can have the bed,” he said, before realizing that it was probably at least somewhat bloody from how he’d been lounging in it directly after his meal. 

She shook her head. “We’ll share the bed,” she said with surprising certainty. 

Well, he didn’t mind that at all. 


End file.
